The Road Less Travelled
by Cath1
Summary: A companion piece of sorts to Laura's Miles to Nowhere. Carter helps Abby through a traumatic time.
1. Default Chapter

The Road Less Travelled

The Road Less Travelled

Author: Cath

Category: Abby/Carter

Spoilers: Watch to the end of series 7 and you should be covered.

Rating: A probably PG13, I'm not exactly conservative with the usage of expletives, so if you find them offensive, perhaps you ought turn back now…

Disclaimer: If I owned them would I write amazingly pathetic fictional stories about them???

Notes: This is a companion piece of sorts to Laura's 'Miles To Nowhere' part one, although you don't have to have read that to understand this one. But it probably helps.   
The title is shamelessly lifted from a self-help book by M. Scott Peck. Not that I've actually read it, but it is mentioned several times in Bridget Jones' Diary, which I _have _read. Repeatedly in fact. 

Anyway, this is the Carter POV version. 

~*~ The Road Less Travelled ~*~

I don't know how we got here. Figuratively, not literally. Since I know _exactly _how we got to this place, this vast empty space in the middle of the Arizona desert. We got on a plane, rented a car, drove a few hundred miles, and bam, here we are. The middle of fucking nowhere, AZ. 

I received the phone call from her at 8:43 last night. I remember thinking it was strange when she called my name "John" as I hadn't heard that voice on the other end of my phone in weeks, ever since my declaration of undying love. Okay, so perhaps it wasn't exactly a declaration of undying love, and it certainly wasn't the most eloquent way to tell her that I thought that maybe I was in love with her, but I hoped it got the message across. It did, and she stopped calling, and we spent less time together. How's that for a signal about her feelings? 

So when I got this phone call I was immediately suspicious. Well, not at first, at first I was beyond delighted, maybe she returned some of those feelings (doubtful, but I live forever in hope…). 

"I don't think we should be friends any longer, either." She then said, which completely threw me. 

I made sure that I wasn't actually hallucinating. "Abby? Is that you?" I asked, I mean, I've had stranger dreams. 

"Yup, who else would it be?" Well, lots of people, actually, but I stopped short of actually saying it. Then the suspicion finally came home. Was she drunk? I hoped to god that she wasn't, for her own sake. It would take months to recover from a set back like this.

"Where are you?" I asked, hoping that I was being overly paranoid about the whole situation. 

"I'm in a bar, downtown." She replied. My stomach sank. How could she do this to herself? Why? However this concern didn't quite articulate itself quite the way I might have hoped. "You're in a bar? What the Hell are you doing? You're an alcoholic!" I practically yelled. As I said, the concern part didn't quite come across as I had intended. 

She seemed unconcerned at my tone of voice. "Come have a drink with me, John." She slurred. 

God, Abby, what have you done to yourself? I thought. How the hell could you possibly get yourself in such a fucking mess after all that you had done to get over it? I think that maybe here I was uttering a few choice expletives whilst I wasn't thinking. I only hoped she was too drunk to be offended, then cursed myself for thinking that. I looked at the caller ID and realised that I could call the operator and find out where she was. "Abby, stay where you are, I'll be there in half an hour." Then I put down the phone, and dialled the number for information. 

The very helpful guy on the other end informed me that the number was for a bar named 'Gallahad's' and he gave me the address. 

Twenty minutes later I was through the front door of the bar and making a quick search of the premises for Abby. She was sitting at the bar, drink in hand, several empty glasses surrounding the half-full one, looking, appropriately, quite the alcoholic, and I was surprised that the bartender hadn't questioned her intake. I think she was beyond drunk a few hours ago. I walked over to her and took the drink out of her hand, struggling with it as she tried to make me consume it myself. "Abby, please. For one thing I'm driving. Come on, let's just go home. I can get you in the shower, sober you up, put you to bed…" I grabbed her arm and tried to make her stand, but instead she laughed. 

"I want to go on a trip." She declared. I pondered this for a while. 

"A trip?" I asked. She was drunk, not necessarily coherent. Tell me, please, who hasn't had a 'brilliant' idea after having consumed the better part of a month's worth of alcohol? 

"Yep. I want to leave everything behind and forget about it. I never did that before, I always stuck things out, knuckled down and played good little Abby. I want to be bad for once. I want to not give a shit…" She sounded quite defiant about the whole thing. In fact, if she were sober, I might agree. However alcohol can do strange things to the best of us. I tried an alternative tactic – exploiting her drunkenness and making her promise the ultimately impossible. 

"And if I take you away, you promise not to have another drink?" Okay, so perhaps she wasn't entirely finished on her little diatribe. 

Eventually: "I promise." 

I didn't know whether to believe her or not, but anything was better than this alcoholic state to which she'd revisited. After that she willingly went home. I got her into the shower, as I promised (although I did leave her in the bathroom fully clothed), I helped her pack a few items of clothing, and then pulled back the covers and steered her towards the bed. She climbed into bed, and I rearranged the comforter over her, and wished her goodnight for the few hours sleep that she would attain whilst I was making reservations. I then went home and packed my own bag and made arrangements with my travel agent for two plane tickets (open-ended) to Phoenix, Arizona, and phoned the ER to inform them of the unforeseen circumstances that would detain both Abby and I from work for a few days. I then drove by Abby's apartment and woke her up from her deep slumber and we made our way to O'Hare for the 10 o'clock flight that I had managed to get us on. 

The flight was surprisingly on time, and so I dragged Abby, half-asleep and still somewhat intoxicated, onto the plane. 

She was quiet for that first 20 minutes, just watching as Chicago diminished into a sea of fairy lights, smaller and smaller and more distant. She became completely detached from her surroundings, ignoring the cabin crewmember when she offered drinks (I ordered two bottles of mineral water) and somewhere inside of me prompted my asking if she was all right. I softly touched her hand, making sure that she wouldn't hit me for taking it too far, before clutching her hand in support as she told me that her mother had succeeded in killing herself, which had lead to this impromptu alcoholic binge. I brought her into my arms and hugged her, offering no false words of hope that everything would be okay. I didn't know that it would be, so we remained in silence until we began our descent into Phoenix. 

I briefly thought of Susan Lewis as we landed, but Abby took up most of my thoughts whilst I signed my life away for the rental car, and tried to ignore her wanting to crash out in a bar. 

We drove for many, many miles across arid landscapes, roads straight in front of us, seemingly never ending, the same when I look in the rearview mirror. The road into nowhere. Which is where we are now. 

She sits next to me in complete silence, and I begin to think that perhaps this wasn't the way to solve the problems that have built up over the past 24 hours. 

She should be back in Chicago with her boyfriend, not out here alone with me, no matter how much I might want this time together. 

She sits in silence and I want to talk. I want to tell her how much she means to me, and that she shouldn't have to keep everything to herself, I'm here to help. I want to, but I can't. We're only friends, if that, after all. And I still can't think of anything else to say. A comment on the weather is unnecessary, we noted the heat the minute we landed, and there is no weather but that. I'm not sure that she wants to talk, anyway. 

My brother died when I was young, but aside from that I've never had a close relative die, and so I don't know how to react. I was too young to react in any way other than anger over the fact that even whilst dead my brother commanded an audience far wider than I had ever received, but I don't think that what Abby needs right now is to hear about this. In fact, I suspect that all she really needs is to satisfy the insatiable urge for more alcohol, I know that feeling and can relate to that, but that would be inappropriate right now. 

What am I doing here? Why did I agree to such a road trip with no purpose? Would other saner men than I take this road? 

These questions haunt me, and so a few miles down the road I pull over and attempt to address them. 

"Where to now?" I ask. The answer obvious in it's literal terms, there is only the road ahead that I can take. Abby decides to take my comment at face value.

"I thought we were just following the road." 

"Ah, but where does it lead?" I wonder, and I think that we both know that we're no longer talking about geography. 

"I'm not sure we'll ever know answer to that – or if I even want to." 

"I know I don't." I say, thinking about this, this thing, between us. Forwards, or backwards. Onwards or retreat to where we started? 

"Are you really going to leave County?" The seeming non sequitur throws me for a minute before I realize that she is actually continuing with what she was talking about, the road ahead. 

"I don't know," I say with more nonchalance than I feel. "Sometimes you just have to give up and move on." Mentally I call out to her to ask me to stay, to remain there for her. But it's not worth it. And never going to happen, she made that clear enough, or did she? 

"And sometimes you have to work at things, dig your heels in and put in the effort," she counters, making me believe that perhaps there is some hope for me with her, after all. 

"Give me one reason why I should stay," my ego begs her to tell me that it is because she wants me to, but I know this is unlikely.

"Because I want you to." I am thrown for a minute. What does this mean?

I try to prevent myself from feeling hurt by the possible misunderstanding of her meaning. "So you can have a friend to sort out problems between you and Luka?" 

"No, so I can have someone to call at midnight from a bar because my life is falling apart and I know he'll be there to stop me from ruining things completely. So we can drive all night then get stuck in awkward morning after phase." I'm unsure what to make of the fact that she has completely neglected to mention Luka at all in that sentence, but try my best not to read too much into it. 

Instead, I laugh, and go along with what is possibly a joke. "Morning after phase? Don't we have to sleep together to get that?" Not that I'd mind or anything, I silently add.

"Apparently not." Damn…

"Then I think I'm missing out on the best part of the deal here," I carry on the joke, seeing it for what I think it really is, meaningless banter between two friends. 

"Just drive," she nearly laughs, I can tell. And I must admit that I've missed these moments whilst we've not been friends recently. 

"But we haven't decided where we're going yet." I continue to abuse our double entendre for all that it is worth.

"Does it really matter?" She questions philosophically. 

Yes, I think. But I reply to the negative. "No, I don't suppose it does."

Maybe it doesn't matter if we plan where we're headed. 

I've taken the road less traveled, and while it could be better, I don't mind that we don't come to any decisions. 

There's a lifetime stretching ahead of us in which we can change the direction in which our lives travel. 

And for now, I'm content, and that's all I need. 

***********************

Feedback is always appreciated (as are cookies, chocolate and financial donations…)

Should I bother to continue writing??? 

Affirmative or negative to [button_mush@hotmail.com][1]

   [1]: mailto:button_mush@hotmail.com



	2. Part Two

The Road Less Travelled – part two

The Road Less Travelled – part two

Okay, so this is the companion piece of sorts to the second in Laura's 'Miles to Nowhere' series, which she has kindly allowed me to write Carter's POV for. (Well, okay it's taken bribes of alcohol, money and threats of violence, but eventually she gave in…) 

Spoilers: To the end of series 7. We've got it covered from there…

Summary: Carter helps Abby through a difficult time…(hence please note, it's a Carby fic…) 

Author: Cath

Feedback: Goes to [button_mush@hotmail.com][1] if you will. But how else will I know whether or not to write more?

Disclaimer: Unfortunately they're not mine…yet…. But if I promise to be good, can I have a Carter for Christmas? Please?

Notes: Don't think there is anything else to say. Am English, so if anything doesn't read like an American has written it, it's because it's not. Duh. 

Anyway, here I go, wish me luck…

~*~ The Road Less Travelled, part two ~*~

We travel on until we reach a small town. If it could even be classified as a town. The gas station/grocery store, fleabag motel and few houses seem more to punctuate the endless desert land rather than represent a place to live. I wonder what would make anyone want to live in such a place, or stay longer than the time it takes to drive through. Unfortunately the car begs for more gas, and so we must prolong our visit to this comma, or dash, or whatever the hell it is. 

I pull into the gas station, and stop by the lonesome pump. 

I get out of the car and look around to make sure that it is actually self-service. It is, well there are no signs or people to say otherwise, and so I proceed. 

Abby gets out of the car, and I give her a questioning look, as it's obviously not just to stretch her legs. She motions with her head towards the small grocery store/gas station and I don't ask why. It's not really my business. Unfortunately she doesn't have to tell me if she wants to buy a bottle of alcohol of any description. If she wants to ruin her life, I can only watch. 

Not that I think that she will buy any alcohol, for all I know she could want some lifesavers, or chips, or some water. She has more strength than to become a victim to the temptation once again, and I'd like to think that she would have better judgement than to do it whilst I'm so close by. 

There is nothing to look at on ground level and so I look up at the sky, empty of clouds' cumulus, stratus, nimbus and whatever the hell the other one is. Rhombus? No, I seem to recall that in my geometry class. 

It seems almost incredulous to me that I'm obsessing over the names of cloud types whilst Abby could be in the shop, buying the liquor that will put her back so many years. It must be the effect of mind numbing boredom that this town seems to exude. 

What the hell was that last cloud type? I think that maybe I'll ask Abby, see if she knows, but then decide against it as she'd only think that I was going insane. Which I think I might be. 

Stratus. Nope, already had that one. 

Cirrus. That was it. Cumulus, stratus, nimbus, and cirrus. None of them in the sky, like the ground, it is devoid of any thing of interest. Just the bright blue sky, accented by the ever-present sun. 

I see Abby come out again from the shop, and she smokes several cigarettes before she walks over and starts talking to an old man sat outside. I don't hear what they say, but he nods over at the gas station and Abby looks somewhat annoyed, but starts to walk back to where she came from. 

The gas stops pumping, the car is full again, and will hopefully be happier for it, and it brings me out of my short reverie. I look at the amount before following in the direction Abby went. 

I go into the shop, and hear Abby ask the guy at the counter for a phone. 

"You could borrow my cell." I offer, knowing that there is no way that she will take me up on it.

She startles, unaware that I had followed her. "I have to call Luka." She says, and I can't read the expression on her face. 

"Oh." I comment, for lack of anything else to say. I decide that now might be the time to ignore any feelings that I might have about their relationship and back down, walk away. So I go over and peruse the selection of candy that they have. Not much. I select a packet of pepper mint lifesavers, and by the time that I've returned to the counter, Abby has gone, as has the clerk. The clerk returns shortly, and I give him the mints and point to the car. Not that there would be any need for it, I'm the only person, apart from Abby in the store, and there are no other cars around. I pay the amount that the guy tells me, and then go outside again, and look towards the sky, hands held high as my life falls apart and I become certifiably insane. 

I muse that the old guy across the road might think that I'm praying to God. I don't even think that God exists in places like this. My hands drop by my side, and open the eyes that I had closed. God has not granted the wish that I am out of this place, out of this life, and I begin to think that only a miracle will allow me to do either. 

I hear the door to the shop open several long minutes later, and I know without turning round that it is Abby. At least I hope it is as I ask, "what did Luka say?" with as much enthusiasm as I can possibly muster. I don't make the mark even by half, but Abby thankfully makes not comment on it, instead saying, "Not much." 

I choose not to ask more, I don't think I want to hear the answer anyway. "So, do you want to drive?" I ask, trying to make the moment less awkward, and trying not to yell out loud that Abby shouldn't even have to think to call Luka. I'm here for her, as I always have been, as I always will be. But she does not hear my silent scream, and it seems as though it will be that way forever. I throw her the keys, and she deftly catches them with both her hands. 

"What are we doing here?" She asks after a moment. What are any of us doing here? I wonder, but now is not the time for philosophical discussions with myself that will only increase the reality of my insanity. 

"I don't know." I opt for, answering truthfully. Really, I don't. I would never choose to come to this godforsaken hyphen in the desert. And I'm there with the metaphors again. Certainly not improving my chances for sanity. "You were the one who wanted to come." I complete, not knowing what else to say. 

"I was drunk at the time. I'm not exactly at my most rational when drunk. If I'd said I wanted to pony trek in the Himalayas, would you have taken me?" Probably. 

Abby doesn't seem to realise the hold she has on me. I'd do anything for her, I think, which only proves my madness. 

However, I know better than to say any of this out loud. So I laugh. Or give my best attempt at a laugh. "Come on. This is hardly Nepal. You said you wanted to get away for a couple of days, so now we're away."

"Away in the middle of nowhere," she replies, and I agree with this more than she knows. "Do you even know where the Hell we are?"

No, I don't. I'm not sure I'll ever know, I'm not sure I ever want to know, all I know is that I want to be as far away from this place in time as I possibly can be. However I point towards the signpost signaling that it isn't in fact hell we're in, but Grantsville, AZ. About as close to hell as I've ever been. "Sure I do. We're in Grantsville. Grantsville, Arizona." I point out unnecessarily. 

"Why thank you for making that exceptionally complex deduction. And where, pray tell, is Grantsville, in relation to anywhere resembling civilisation, that is?" She seems to think that it was unnecessary as well. Great minds think alike and all that. 

We're out in the middle of nowhere, miles from anywhere and even further from home, and I begin to think that we're never going to get back. Back to where we came from. And this saddens me far more than it should. Of course we'll get back, the endless desert isn't in fact, endless, just seems that way. 

I reach into the glove box of the car and look for a map. I'll give Abby the real answer, and not some philosophical mumbo jumbo that seems to have plagued me recently. I think it's this town. Nothing to do but pass the time thinking and philosophizing. 

"The Nevada Stateline is about 100 miles west on this road, then it's a little further on to Vegas. Or we could head back the way we came to Phoenix. We can catch a flight back to Chicago from either city – since I'm assuming that's what you want to do." And it's what I'd like to do. 

"So, which way? Onwards or back from whence we came?" And again we double-talk. Choose your meaning and use a phrase that will expand to fit either version, but will really answer your own meaning. 

"We should carry on – after all, there's no going back is there?" And I mean this less in the geographical sense. We've come this far, and we can't go back to what we were before. Too much has changed. We've changed. 

"No. There never is." She says, and I think, once again she is agreeing to it in the more emotional sense. We think alike, Abby and I. And it can drive me crazy, and it can make me laugh. And sometimes it can just mean nothing. Now it means that we've agreed on something fundamental, but I don't think I can even start to sort that out in my head until we get on the open road, and away from Grantsville, AZ. 

We drive for hours. More desert, more open landscape with no obscuring views, and it all reminds me of the sky empty of the clouds. There is nothing to see after a while that is different than before, and we close our eyes to it all. 

The music playing in the background is as sparse as the view, and it does nothing to improve my mood.

The driving, the emptiness, the nothingness - all collects and leaves me feeling hollow and tired. Shattered even, and I sense that Abby feels the same. We say nothing to one another, and once again I begin to feel that this impromptu road trip has done nothing for either one of us, and was an expensive mistake. 

And then after we stop for a quick break she reaches out to me, lets me know that she is still with me and it all feels worthwhile again. Those few moments where we connect make up for the hours that we spent together but apart. 

And then we finally arrive at our final destination. Viva Las Vegas. I'd not been here for years, but it has not changed one bit. I peer over at Abby who was trying to catch some sleep, and I see that she, too, has perked up with the idea of civilisation, of people, of a promise that we can get home after all. It's a welcome relief, and I don't know of many people who could say that about Las Vegas. 

I drive straight to the airport - there is nothing else to do. Abby goes to the bathroom, and I head over to the desks, hoping to extend our tickets to Vegas. Which I am assured is fine. However, not until the morning. 

I beg and plead with many of the staff, embarrassing myself for Abby's sake, however there is nothing that they can do, no miracles that they can perform, and I think back to Grantsville, that we are no nearer home than we were then. We can't get home without miracles tonight, and all I want to do is get into my apartment, wash off the days' accumulation of dust and dirt and crawl into bed. However, there is no chance of this, and I'm not sure whether I'm more upset for my own or Abby's sake. Both, I think. 

I walk over and stand outside the women's bathroom and wait a few minutes for Abby to emerge. She looks clean, but tired beyond all belief, and I regret that I am the one to tell her that there is no way home for us, not tonight. She asks about the plane tickets, and I consider for a moment what I am going to say. 

"I asked at all the desks. And the first flight to Chicago I could get is at ten a.m. tomorrow." She is not happy. That much at least is evident. But there is nothing that I can do. 

"Not until tomorrow morning?" She asks me, pleading with her eyes that I can do more to help her. And I desperately want to, but cannot. "Did you go through every airline? There can't possibly be _nothing_ available? What about in first class? Or transfers – we could fly somewhere else first then go on to Chicago." 

She is starting to panic, and it's understandable. I try my best to calm her, but I don't think it's entirely effective. "And the journey would take twice as long and cost twice as much. What's the big deal, anyway? We could spend the night in a motel here, get some sleep, then go back tomorrow. Eighteen more hours isn't going to change anything." I don't think that even I believe what I am saying. Eighteen hours is a long time when we have nothing to do, no where to go, and all we want to do is go home. 

"I'm not sure…" 

"It's just one night, Abby." I tell her, trying to convince both her and myself. 

"All right, okay. I can handle it," she says, but she sounds more as though she is trying to psyche herself up for it than actually agreeing with me. I decide to take her answer at face value, though. 

"Good. I saw a motel outside the airport, we can stay there."

"Fine," she says as we gather ourselves together and walk back towards the outside and the oppressive heat. We walk outside before she starts to question me again. "Are you sure they were no flights left? You weren't just saying that to make me stay?"

I'm not sure how to reply to this accusation. Does she not realise that I did almost everything that I could to try and get home? I don't want to stay here any more than she does, especially since it is so obvious that she no longer wants to stay here. 

"What? You really think I'd do that?" I answer eventually, and half hope that she was only joking. But I know that she wasn't. She really thought for at least a moment that I was prolonging our stay here for some selfish, inexplicable reason, and it hurts.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. In fact, I'm sorry for all of this. For dragging you into this, for acting like a total bitch." She immediately draws back and I see the sadness in her expression. And all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and take away the hurt and the sadness and magically transport us home. However I can't do any of that, I have no secret to make her happy again, to make her mother alive again, to even get us home tonight. So, I settle for hugging her and try to make things better by telling her that I'm sorry - for her mother. 

But I'm more sorry that she has to go through this alone, that she has to feel that she has no one to help her, and feels as though she is a burden on me. 

She is anything but, however there is no way that I can tell her this, not right now, not here. 

I only hope that she'll work it out before it's too late, and I hope that soon she'll stop feeling guilty about the way she feels towards her mother, to Luka, to me, even, but more so about herself. 

__

To Be Continued???

   [1]: mailto:button_mush@hotmail.com



	3. Part Three

The Road Less Travelled – Part Three

The Road Less Travelled – Part Three

The companion piece to Laura's Miles To Nowhere Part Three (surely you get the idea by now…?)

Spoilers: à series 7, then Miles to Nowhere à 3, Road Less Travelled à 2

Author: Cath

Feedback: All to [button_mush@hotmail.com][1] and all appreciated. 

Summary: A night on the town and Abby is still no more distracted by Carter… (silly girl…) 

Where Can I find the rest of the stories? Go to [http://www.geocities.com/button_mush][2] and it's all pretty much there (visit anyway… there's quite a few fanfics there now…) And Laura's fics should be up there soon. 

Disclaimer: As much as I love Abby and Carter, they're not mine, although I think I own the desk clerk (well, I tell her what to do, anyway…) and that's really about it. 

Notes: Am still not American (weird, that) Have no more knowledge about gambling and roulette than Laura (although I hear the Russian version is quite fun…) but it's fiction, so they can play however they damn want.   
I'm not getting paid to write this (sadly), but I am getting paid to be a ward clerk (temporarily) to pay my university debts, (and I'm thinking that the hospital staff are regretting that decision…) so please don't sue me. 

~*~ The Road Less Travelled: Part Three ~*~

We get to the airport motel and Abby collects our bags from the car whilst I go to check in. 

The desk clerk there, a wide eyed, perky young girl with bright red hair aptly named Cherry (or so her nametag tells me) informs me that yes, they do have two rooms spare, and would that be smoking or non-smoking? 

I briefly think of Abby before informing Cherry that it we would like smoking. 

Abby then comes in with the two bags, and I pay for the room on my American Express Gold Card. Cherry smiles at Abby, who reciprocates half-heartedly before shooting me a glare that suggests that she doesn't have the time nor the inclination to be here right now. 

Cherry chatters on inanely, but I don't really listen as Abby is far more the center of my focus at the moment. I sign my name on the dotted line, take my bag from Abby and grab the keys that Cherry hands over. She grins widely at me, gives me a quick wink that I don't understand and points us in the direction of our rooms. 

Abby and I walk in silence until we reach her room. 

"So, are you going to take her up on her offer?", Abby asks, and I have no idea what she's talking about.

"Huh?" I reply so eloquently. 

"Cherie was offering to show you the best places to go in Vegas." Abby smiles this time and it looks almost out of place.

"Really, I have no idea what you're talking about." I say, and I honestly don't.

This gets a laugh from Abby. "The underage desk clerk was flirting with you. I thought you went for that type." She says teasingly, and I eventually understand that whilst my attention was completely on Abby, the desk clerk was trying to chat me up. I'd usually deny such things, and try and cut the conversation short, but I've missed Abby, the real Abby, and so I'm going to let her tease me as long as she wants. 

"Yes, you've got me, I like the thrill of trying not to be caught sleeping with 16 year olds." I say sarcastically. It's really not true, and that one incident with Rena was completely due to the fact that she looked 26. At least. 

Abby laughs at this, and I don't care that she's having fun at my expense. But it's short lived. Something in Abby's demeanour changes, as though she was caught having fun and its wrong so soon after her mom has died and she makes excuses about having to go to her room and have a shower. 

Reluctantly I go to my own room and have a quick shower and change my clothes. I want to go to Abby and make sure that she is okay, but I know that she needs space, she's been with me for the whole time of our trip, and I think that it can probably be suffocating after a while. 

So I sit and watch reruns of Friends episodes on NBC for a while, but not really watching. I'm thinking instead. Thinking about Abby, about Luka, about Maggie, and even about Rena. 

Rena broke things off with me because she thought that there was too much competition between her and Abby. At the time I thought that she was out of her mind. What could a 19 year old know about these things, and Abby and I joked about it as we brought Maggie back to Chicago all those many months ago. 

My god, was it really so long ago that I spent those days driving across the country trying to prevent something happening, the something that has now happened. Trying to prevent Abby falling apart and in denial so much that I didn't understand what compelled me to be with her, but that I knew that it was right. And that was all that mattered. 

Now I can do nothing to stop the incessant thoughts about Abby, not even the fact that she is grieving over the death of her mother. The thoughts just manifest themselves in a wish to help her in anyway I can, be it pay for her to escape from her life, or to listen if she were ever to need someone to talk to. But it seems that she doesn't, not to me, anyway. 

I now know almost without a doubt that she thinks of me only as a friend, and if that is the only way to be near her, it'll have to do. Despite what I said about only being friends (and see what a response that got) I'd rather have that than nothing at all. 

The episode ends and Ross and Jennifer Aniston have got ridiculously drunk in a casino in Vegas, Monica and the brown-haired one have decided to get married, and god only knows what the blonde ditzy one, and the other one are up to. I haven't really been paying attention, but it gives me the idea of what Abby and I can be doing tonight. Not, obviously, getting drunk, but playing roulette and craps and those slot machines in a cheesy Vegas casino in one of those wonderfully OTT hotels. 

I get off the bed and turn off the TV in one movement, find the keys for the door, grab my wallet and exit the room. I walk over to Abby's room and quietly knock on the door and call her name. I hear nothing in reply, and think that perhaps she couldn't hear me. I start to call again, and then think twice. Perhaps she was ignoring me on purpose. I mean, the guy across the hall heard me, he's just exited his room to make sure that I wasn't the ex of the not unattractive blonde who exited with him (also apparently named Abby), trying to ruin his night. I assure him that I'm not (especially since he looks as though he could easily kick my ass into the next state, and I really don't want to be back in Arizona, thank you very much…) and they both retreat back to their room. I'm stood there looking lost, not knowing what to do. So I decide to go into her room without calling again. It's probably the wrong thing to do, and hopefully Abby's in there just wanting to be left alone, and will yell at me as soon as I enter the room. 

But then I open the door and see that that's not the case. "Abby." I call out, mostly to reassure her that I'm not some lunatic trying to break into her room (although it would be less disconcerting if I actually had to use a key to get in…) and then I see her. She's curled up on her bed, her head underneath the pillows, and I know that everything isn't okay when I hear her cries. I'm not sure what to do, I'm always awkward in these situations, and so I hesitantly start to rub my hand along her back in soothing motions as much as I can and tell her that I'm here, everything will be okay. She relaxes somewhat beneath my touch, and I feel as though I am helping somewhat. I resist the urge to reach out and hold her in my arms until her crying completely stops, but I'm not sure that it would help her. I continue with softly assuring her that I'm here for her, brushing the back of her shirt with my hand until I'm not sure that she hasn't fallen asleep, she is so quiet. 

I gently call out to her, so I won't disturb her if she has fallen asleep, and ask if she wants to get out from here. 

I think she asks "where?" from beneath the pillow, but it could just as easily have been "chair" for all I could hear. Not that it would have made sense, but still. 

"We could play a few slot machines, waste all our money on the roulette wheel. Maybe even take in a show," I say, thinking of the Friends episode. "After all we are in Vegas." She doesn't answer, so I touch her back softly to make sure that she hasn't fallen asleep again. "C'mon, it'll be fun."

She brings her head slightly out from under the pillow, her hair all mussed up, and asks "Fun?"

I rethink that idea. "Well, maybe not _fun_, but it beats staying in and staring at four walls all evening."

"Actually, I was thinking about staring at the floor too – just for a change of scenery." And I internally smile at the joke that she is trying to make. However, I grab her arm and attempt to drag her off the bed and out the door. I make it as far as getting her to sit up, but it's a start. "Right, that's it," I say, "You're coming out for a night on the town whether you like it or not."

"Oh, really. And you're going to make me are you?" Yup. I think so. I quickly evaluate the situation, and decide that the best way forward is to pull her over my shoulder and give her a fireman's lift out of the room. So I do. "Hey!" She squeals, kicking the air with her legs to no avail. "Let me down!"

"Nope," I say, I'm having far too much fun. However she takes an unforeseen tactic, and grabs the doorframe, and she's holding on too tight for me to take her any further. I yield. 

Or I would if she hadn't first. "Okay, okay, I'll come. But only if you let me shower first."

"Meet you downstairs in twenty minutes?" I say walking back to the bed and placing her back on it. 

"Whatever," she replies, and attempts to give me an evil look, but it fails. 

"Phew," I say, "I'm glad I didn't have to carry you all the way down to the lobby – you're heavier than you look." And I ham it up as much as I can, feigning backache. 

"Bastard," she yells as I exit, and it's all I can do to stop myself from laughing. 

She meets me, true to her word, twenty minutes later, and we decide to wander around and eat the first place we come across, as I, for one, am famished. 

It's shortly after that we come to 'Joe's Diner', a 24 hour burger joint that costs $1 more for each item to eat in than outside in the small 'park' on the benches across the street. So we decide to eat take away, as it's a nice evening, and the prices are extortionate enough without the several dollars extra. 

We eat the burgers, making small talk as I try my best to cheer Abby up without doing so obviously. 

We throw away the empty cartons of the remainders of our meal, and I take her towards a casino. I take her hand, and she doesn't let go, so I take that as an encouraging sign and pull her closer towards me. However, she must think the opposite, so edges away almost hoping that I won't notice, and when she lets go my hand feels cold again, but I'll get over it. 

"So, have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asks, not looking at me. 

"Once. On some family function." I tell her, and dig my hands in my pockets hoping to get back some of the warmth. It makes no difference. "We stayed in the best hotel and bet ridiculous sums of money, just so our winnings could be donated to charity. It was all very civilised and mundane, and I spent the entire time wanting to escape and explore on my own. What about you?"

"I vacationed here with my ex once," she says after a brief contemplation of some description. "A little while after we were married – he lost half our savings playing blackjack, came on to every croupier in sight and I spent the entire weekend on a drinking binge."

"So, things can only get better, right?" I say, as we ironically walk by a drunk passed out on the street, seemingly in his own vomit. 

"Pretty much." She says, and it seems that she managed to miss looking at the drunkard. Lucky her. 

We enter the casino, and are immediately assaulted by the bright lights, unending sounds of people and machines mixed into a cacophony, and people in different costumes trying to convince you to part with yet more of your money for various reasons. 

I try to block it all out as I go to the kiosk and ask (well, yell) at the guy for chips to the value of $5000. The guy looks at me doubtfully, I obviously don't look as though I've got enough money in my rumpled pants and sweater, but doesn't question me and hands over the chips in exchange for my credit card. 

"You don't intend betting all of that do you?" I hear Abby ask in disbelief, and as I turn round the expression on her face is almost comical. 

"Why not? It's only interesting when the stakes are high. The only risks worth taking are big ones." I say, not knowing what I mean. Or, I know what I mean, but it's not quite what I'm saying. It's the whole double meaning that seems to be associated with this trip, and it can apply to almost any sentence, and I only realise this after I say it. 

"But what if you mess up. What if you lose it all?" She asks and it strikes me that she's almost as excited by the whole prospect of doing something so irrational and unlike our usual characters as I am. 

"That's just a chance I have to take." I say, and I try to figure out what I mean by this comment. Definitely in the context of gambling but gambling with what? Money? Feelings? Perhaps both, perhaps neither. I'm not sure I even know. "Put them on any number you like." I tell Abby, trying to get out of my inner thoughts, and I hand her the chips. 

She looks at me as if I have gone insane, which considering my thoughts earlier this week, perhaps I have. "Oh no, buddy. You can be responsible for losing your own money." She replies, but I don't care. I want her to do this, for her own sake. To make herself believe that she can do things, and it doesn't matter if she loses, as long as she tries. 

"Just put them on a number. I don't care." I say, and I really don't. For the fact that $5000 is very little in the scheme of things in my family as much as any other reason. 

She looks uncertain, but chooses black 27 regardless. 

We wait for other people to place their bets, and then the game starts. We watch the wheel spin and spin into a red black blur, confusing and undefined - much like this thing between us. 

But I ignore the parallels as much as I can as the wheel begins to slow, and it all comes back into focus. Slowing down, slow, slow, slow, stop. 

Abby shrieks and I hear someone announce black 27, and I realise that we won. 

"There, I knew you could do it." I tell her, although to be honest, I didn't actually think we'd win. 

I tell her to try again, and we go through the same process. Round and round the wheel spins, not quite out of control, but almost, gravity finally pulling it to a stop…on the red 14 that Abby had chosen. I look over at her and she looks so happy and so beautiful in that moment, unaware that I'm watching her that I want to pull her into a hug and tell her things that I shouldn't tell her. But I can't because it's not the right place or the right time. 

So I settle for reassuring her that I knew that she'd win when she squeals in delight at her second success. 

I tell her to go for it a third time, telling her that she's on a winning streak, but she reminds me that it's bad luck to say things like that. She chooses red 18, and she seems sure about it for a game that's completely about chance. 

As the ball slows I will it to go on red 18, not for the money, but for Abby. I glance at her out of the side of my eye, watch as she follows the ball round the wheel as much as she can, especially when it slows down enough that you can see it visibly. 

I look back at the wheel, and the ball comes to a stop, and I see where it stopped. The croupier announces red 18, and it's all the confirmation that Abby needs to start celebrating at her third victory, and she jumps up and down before throwing herself around onto me, her arms around my shoulders, and I grab her tight and spin her round. A mimicry of the ball spinning around the wheel. Although I'm not sure who the ball or the wheel is, and I'm not sure that I care at this moment. 

"You see, I knew we'd make a good team." I tell her, and I mean it. But she extricates herself from me as though the moment is too awkward for her, and I can't stop her. 

We play various games the rest of the night. I try my hand at craps, and lose a fair amount as I can't quite remember the rules, which doesn't help.   
Still, we come away with a gain, and Abby comes away with somewhat of a smile, which makes it all worthwhile. 

Finally we hit the slot machines, and waste a large amount trying over and over again to make a profit. 

"So, has this been exciting enough for you?" I ask as I put yet another quarter in the machine, destined to never be seen again. 

"The winning wasn't exactly half-bad," she admits. 

"Better than staying locked up in your hotel room all night?" 

"Yeah, okay, I'm glad you dragged me out – is that what you wanted to hear?" She looks over at me, and I can't help but smile at this admission. 

"Pretty much." I say, but it's only half-true. I think that this is one of those moments that made the trip worthwhile, the reason that I actually decided to go along with this mad plan, as it wasn't exactly for my health. We reach into the quarter bucket at the same time, and our hands touch and it feels right. "I missed you, Abby." I think, and then realise that I said it aloud. I'm not sure if I should say it but she doesn't hit me so I take that as a positive response. I look down and notice that I've subconsciously taken her hand in my own, and there's nothing I can do. 

"I missed you too." She says, and it makes me inexplicably happy to hear her say it. I've come to the conclusion that I love her without a doubt, and there's nothing I can do about that, either. I can't make it go away, and sometimes I think she feels the same, and other times I'm not sure. 

She begins to turn away from me, and I think there's only one way to find out whether she feels anything beyond friendship for me, and it's a defining moment. Do I go for it, or do I surrender her to Luka, or whoever it is that she may love. 

Again, my mind takes over, and my fingers find their way to her chin, pulling her back towards me, and I'm now leaning in, closer, closer, closer, and she shows no resistance. Perhaps, like me, she doesn't know what is happening. Finally, after what seems like forever, we make contact, and share a small kiss before she pulls back alerted by the slot machine. 

For a moment there something happened, and I'm not sure what it was, and all I know is that it felt like it was how it was supposed to be. 

Perhaps we just weren't meant to be. But that doesn't mean I'm going to surrender that easily. 

"Hey, you won again," I say as soon as I can coherently speak. 

"Yeah," She comments "It must be my lucky night."

Maybe, maybe not, but I'm beginning to think that it was mine. I'm in love with one of my best friends, and she didn't hit me when I kissed her. 

It's a start. 

To be continued?

Email: [button_mush@hotmail.com][1]

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	4. Part Four

The Road Less Travelled – Part Four

The Road Less Travelled – Part Four

Spoilers: Familiar with season 7? You're covered. Although this has wandered into some amount of A/U territory by now… 

Disclaimer: Surprisingly they are still not mine. I am currently petitioning for ownership, but I've not yet heard from the likes of John Wells and the rest of the gang. Here's to hoping…

Feedback: Is a true gift. To all those who missed my birthday, please lavish me with this late gift…

Summary: Abby and Carter return to Chigago, but things aren't going to be the same. 

Notes: Companion piece to Laura's Mile to Nowhere part four, which was in Abby's POV. This one is a Carter POV. Enjoy. 

~*~ The Road Less Travelled – Part Four ~*~

We spend the rest of the night in denial over what has happened, ignoring it. And so nothing is awkward. I almost wish it were; I'd rather we acknowledged that something happened, but it's not to be. 

And we go back to the motel room, and Cherry smiles once more at me in her almost conspiratorial manner which I now know to be her attempts at flirting, and I smile back. It means nothing, but it boosts my ego somewhat to know that I am attractive to someone out there, even if it isn't the person who matters.

We reach Abby's room first, and we stand outside and I'm not sure what I should do. 

"Night Abby." I eventually say, leaning in and giving an innocent kiss on the cheek, and she hugs me quickly back. 

"Thank you." She says and exits to her room. I stand outside for a while longer, leaning against the wall beside the door and replay the evening in my head, the kiss over and over and over again, and I know I won't sleep easily tonight. 

I wonder what she was thanking me for, assuming that it was for taking her out, for trying to let her forget about the sad event that led us here. I'll never know for certain. 

I eventually wander in the direction of my own room, but decide to go outside. There is no use in trying to sleep, I've already given up on the idea and so sitting outside underneath the stars that are barely visible seems like a much more attractive option. 

The city lights obscure the view, making it impossible to even see which is the north star, and for about 2 seconds I wish I were back in the out and beyond where I could see each star individually. I sit back and lean against the wall, closing my eyes, the kiss that Abby and I shared earlier only to be replayed, taunting me. 

I look across the road and only then notice the bar with it's flashing neon lights and it strikes me almost as ironic that I'd miss the most obvious thing. I stand up and slowly make my way over, dodging the cars that zoom past in the darkness, their lights illuminating the way ahead. I enter, and I see that there are few people inside. It's not exactly my idea of a nice place to go, not the tourist trap type that seems omnipresent in the midst of the casinos, but it'll do for now. 

I sit at the bar and order a beer and only hope that Abby will never find out what I am doing here. I don't know why the thought bothers me, I cannot control her intake as she cannot control mine, but still I feel almost guilty for being here. 

The beer is quickly consumed, but it does nothing to quench my thirst. I order another, and then another, and another, drinking them in quick succession, and I realise how easy it would be to become irreversibly alcoholic. To pretend that it couldn't happen to me, to cocoon myself from the harsh reality. 

I am not an alcoholic, but I know that if I were to continue as I am, I would be unable to return down the path I once came. I stop after my fourth beer - there's no safe haven for me in an inebriated state of mind. I know that I shall remember all of the past few days in the morning as well as I do now, and although the enjoyment that briefly comes from the alcohol will cushion me somewhat from the reality, there is no escape. 

I'm not entirely sure that I would want to forget my road trip, though. There are parts that I shall treasure forever in my memory, not the towns, the scenery or the endless skies, but the time that Abby and I spent together alone. Being ourselves. I know better than to expect that it shall happen again anytime in the near future, Abby has made it clear enough that she feels no different for me than she did before she left, her heart is still with Luka, and that doesn't seem to be able to change. I don't understand it now, I suspect that I never shall, especially if I am to continue drinking, but it is not for me to question. 

Suddenly an overpowering exhaustion overcomes me, partly due to the alcohol, and in part to the seemingly endless days that I have spent in the car, watching the world go by, watching Abby as she alternated between hot and cold, sad and happy, detached and with me. 

I say goodnight to the bartender and the Bert, the guy sitting next to me who has apparently been telling me the trauma of his life story involving many deaths, abuse and alcohol, and they wish me goodnight in return. 

I make it back to the motel room and within minutes of my head making contact with the pillow I fall asleep, but the kiss is still refusing to leave me alone, and I dream about it all night. In some scenes Abby reciprocates willingly, and in others she slaps me and asks me what the hell I was trying to do. Neither is reality and I wonder what is in store for me. I doubt that it will be the fairy tale ending that is so often alluded to, and I hope that it will not end in tragedy, in my being alone and rejected. 

The next morning is an early one, and I am thankful that I don't have a hangover from the previous night. We arrive at the airport promptly, and although there is some delay for the plane to take off, we aren't hanging around with nothing to do for hours. Which is a good thing since Abby and I talk very little in the time that we do spend there. 

The ascent is nothing spectacular, and the cabin crew comes round almost immediately to ply us with drinks. Abby orders a coffee and I ask for an orange juice, and we receive our drinks along with some peanuts. I eat mine noisily, enjoying the saltiness followed by the savoury taste of the nut itself. Although I recall reading or hearing that peanuts are not in fact nuts but something else. I don't remember what, maybe peas, or similar. I try to remember, but Abby interrupts, and I'm glad since it's the first thing that she's said to me since we boarded the plane. 

"What are you going to do with the money?" She asks, and I'm bemused. 

"What money?" I ask, trying to make some connection, but lacking. 

"Your roulette winnings – there must have been close to twenty-thousand dollars there." She says. I had completely forgotten about them, twenty thousand is little to me in the scheme of things.

"You can have it if you want." I offer, unconcerned. 

She stiffens suddenly, and I realise that I must have said the wrong thing. "I don't want your charity." She tells me, and I set about immediately to correct her. It is in no way a charitable offer, she won the money after all and I have no use for it, but I think she may. Surely it's merely a matter of not wasting it, although I suppose that I could donate it to American Red Cross, or the hospital fund, or whatever charity my grandmother is currently supporting if Abby is so against receiving it. 

"It's not charity – you were the one placing the bets, you picked the right numbers, so you should have the winnings." I say reasonably.

"But it wasn't my money to start with." She argues, and I don't see what her problem is. 

"So, you give me back my stake and then keep the rest," I suggest "You could use it to pay for next semester's tuition." I recollect as soon as I say it that Abby had told me that she was considering not returning to med school, but it's out there now. 

We argue for sometime more, and I'm bored of it. I can't live like this anymore can't she see that? Then she accuses me of practically using her as a prostitution service, paying her for the idea that she might sleep with me and I am beyond offended. I'm mad, there is no way in hell that I would ever take advantage of her like that, but I'm tired of arguing, we do it too much and nothing ever comes of it, so I merely apologise. I'm not sure I mean it. Well, I do, sort of. In the way that I would never wish for her to think that I would pay her for sex, but I'm still uneasy that she would even suspect me of trying to do something so low and shallow. I only hope that we can stop here and say nothing more if we are to say nothing positive.

But she's pissed at me, and I'm hopeless and helpless and so I apologise for kissing her. I'll never regret it, but it seems as though she does, and if she has negative feelings about it, I was obviously in the wrong. Damn, I hate feeling like this. But it can't be helped. "I was out of line." I tell her. And I mean this. If she has any regrets, it can only have been a mistake, which is unfortunate, as I know that it was the right thing to do, especially since my recent conclusion that I was in love with her.

"You're damn right you were." She replies, pulling away from my outstretched hand as far as she possibly can, and I feel beyond guilty. How could I ever have put her in such a situation? She already has Luka, she's reasonably happy with him as far as I can ascertain, I'm only an unnecessary complication in this already confusing matter. 

But I know why I did interfere. And it's for the very same reason as the conclusion that I came to. "I guess it's just hard." I say, and I know I must tell her the truth, she deserves as much, if only so as to use it to push me away as far as possible. "Because…" I start, and I'm not sure I can go through with it. I know that my feelings will not be reciprocated, but I plough ahead nevertheless. "Because I love you." I say. And I laugh, a nervous laugh. I've not had to do this in sometime, and the last time I declared such a sentiment, I knew that the other person would repeat it back to me. "I know I shouldn't and God knows I try not to – but…" I falter. Do I really need this humiliation on top of everything else? "I'm just making things worse, aren't I? It's okay, I'll shut up now. You can forget I ever said anything." God, why did I have to tell her that? There is no way that I can detract it now, no excuse for my insanity, no alcohol, no temporary mind altering state. It's out there now, and there's nothing I can do. How much longer do we have to go on this flight? 

I want to cry almost, but I can't. I'm male for one thing; it's not the thing to do. And I can't in front of Abby, anyway. I don't want her to think that I am more out of my mind than previously suggested. 

If only she'd say something right now, or do something. Anything, no matter how small. To laugh at my suggestion, hit me; stare at me with an incredulous look upon her face, anything, any resolution. But nothing comes to be, and I feel so very, very awkward for the rest of the flight and wish that I could do something to take it back. 

Silence pervades the space between us until I drop her off at her apartment later in the evening and she tells me that she'll see me tomorrow. It is the first thing that she has said to me since my ill-timed declaration, and I'm somewhat relieved that she isn't going to avoid me for eternity. 

"Sure." I reply, avoiding looking at her. I couldn't face it right now, not to see the pity on her face, or the laughter at such a notion, and I plan to make a move away, get back to my own place where I can hide forever.

But she surprises me. "I won't forget." She tells me, and my breath catches in my throat, and I'm not sure that she means what I think she does. "I won't forget what you said." She says and I have nothing to say in response. I only wish I did, but she walks away from the car before I can formulate any kind of sentence, and I drive away from her apartment block. 

I get back to my own apartment and happily climb into my shower after the long day. I feel refreshed afterwards, but my own words come back to assault me and I keep getting embarrassed every time that I remember. But then the kiss and her last words rush back to me in a moment of pleasure, and I think that maybe everything isn't so screwed up after all. 

I may not get the girl, and she may not reciprocate the feelings, and it's not the ideal fairy tale, but here's a drink and a toast to the good things in life. 

She won't forget what I said, and it's not a declaration of undying love, but it's more than I was ever expecting.

__

To Be Continued…? 

Feedback as always to: [button_mush@hotmail.com][1]_ all is appreciated and I'll even write back to you… that's generosity for you…_

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